At Least That Much
by HGRache
Summary: Two takes on the same event. Missing scene. Puckleberry! "Where are we going? Do you have feathers stashed somewhere? Because, I must tell you, that would just cap off my whole look."
1. Chapter 1

She didn't think he was going to do it. But she didn't think he was going to break her heart, either, and he did that without hesitating.

She should have known better.

She watched as they walked away, laughing at her pathetic image. She felt the egg dripping down her face and tried to remember to keep her mouth shut. She may be covered in baby chickens but she didn't want to accidentally inhale one.

She stood there a long time, feeling the slimy egg dripping down her body. She stood there long after Jesse and Vocal Adrenaline had gone, long after the egg made her shiver.

She didn't want to move. She knew if she moved, she'd break.

She stood as still as a statue, the only movement the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She kept her eyes fixed straight in front of her.

"Berry?"

She closed her eyes, trying to drown out the voice, the whole outside world. _Not yet_, she begged silently. _I'm not ready_.

"Berry?" There was a tinge of concern now and he was coming closer.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing him to just walk away. He didn't.

"What the hell happened to you?" He was standing next to her now, she could feel it, but she kept her eyes tightly shut. "Rachel? Are you ok?"

"Do I look ok?" she bit out harshly.

She felt him take a step back. "You look like hell," he commented casually.

"I'm covered in baby chickens," she said, voice wavering.

She felt a hand on her elbow. "They're just eggs," he told her.

"I'm a vegan," she hissed. "I don't eat eggs because they turn into baby chickens! And now I'm covered in them!" She felt the moisture welling in her eyes and squeezed her eyes tighter still, willing the tears not to fall.

She heard him swear under his breath. "Who did this?"

"Jesse." The name came out as a sob and she swore herself. So much for not crying.

"Are you kidding?" He actually sounded amazed. "Why would he do that?"

"Because everyone was right?" she said angrily. "He never wanted me, he was just using me. He went back to Vocal Adrenaline and now they're intent on making my life miserable. As if the students of my own high school harassing me isn't enough."

She knew him well enough to know he was probably looking away, guiltily. She knew him well enough to know he hated that she knew him that well.

He pulled gently on her elbow. "Come on."

She sniffled, trying to contain the rest of her tears. "Where are we going? Do you have feathers stashed somewhere? Because, I must tell you, that would just cap off my whole look."

"Just come on."

He walked her slowly, steering her. He didn't speak again, except when they reached a curb. "Step up," he said, maneuvering her gently.

She did as she was told, not even caring that he was probably setting her up for more humiliation. She had been kidding about the feathers, kind of, but she wouldn't put it past him to march her into the first classroom he saw and stand her there to be ridiculed.

But even as she was thinking it, she kind of knew better. He was not the world's nicest person, she knew that better than anyone, but he hadn't thrown a slushie on her since they'd dated, since he'd been covered in one himself. And he'd pretty much taken care of anyone else who had. He'd never admit it, and she'd never ask, but she knew he was the reason the slushies had stopped completely. She still kept clothes in her locker, because, hey, it was high school and you never knew what was going to happen.

Like being covered in eggs and humiliated by the boy you loved, by the boy you thought had loved you. Her breath hitched and tears slipped from under her closed eyelashes.

"Shit, Berry, don't cry," he muttered. "We're almost there."

She knew the moment they entered the halls and she braced herself for the laughter and ridicule. It never came.

"We're missing sixth period," he grumbled, but she knew he didn't care. He never cared about missing class.

She heard a door open and she thought, for about half a second, that he actually was leading her into a classroom to be displayed for all to see. But as he navigated her gently through a doorway, she found she didn't care. If he wanted to make a fool of her today, he was welcome to take his best shot. She didn't think she could feel any worse than she already did.

She heard the sound of metal scraping the floor and she flinched away involuntarily. He cupped her elbow again, a little more firmly this time.

"Relax, Berry." He tugged her forward and she went, mostly because she didn't know what else to do. "Sit." He pushed her gently down into a chair.

It wasn't until she heard water running that she realized he was actually going to _help_ her. All of a sudden she knew they were in the bathroom and he was going to help her get cleaned up. She was assaulted with a sense of déjà vu, the memories of being in here helping him clean the slushie out of his hair strong and overwhelming.

"Tell me if it's too hot," he murmured, pulling her shoulders back so she was leaning back over the sink. The warm water felt wonderful on her scalp and his hands worked their way gently through her tangled hair. She relaxed her face and the tears seemed to come on their own accord this time. He didn't say anything about them and neither did she, content just to let him help her while she experience a severe emotional breakdown.

A rough, wet paper towel dabbed gently at her face, washing away the sticky remains. A dry paper towel followed and she knew she could open her eyes.

She didn't.

His hands went back to her hair, gently pulling, combing, making sure all the egg was removed. She relaxed into his touch and tried not to think of all the precious baby chickens that were currently being washed down the drain.

The water stopped suddenly and she tensed.

"You still keep a change of clothes in your locker?" he asked quietly. She didn't understand why he was being so quiet. It was almost as if he was afraid noise would ruin something, bring everything shattering down. She realized bitterly that it might.

She murmured that yes, she had clothes in her locker.

"I'm going to get them," he said, his tone gruff. "I'll be right back."

She didn't ask how he knew her locker combination. She'd gotten enough nasty notes and pornographic drawings in her locker to know that her combination wasn't exactly a secret.

She stayed still for approximately five seconds after she heard the door shut and then she reached back, wringing out her wet hair. She opened her eyes with a sigh. Time to stop hiding.

She grabbed the pile of paper towels on the sink and crossed over to the mirror. She attempted to dry her hair with the cheap paper products as she stared in the mirror, trying to see what it was that they all saw, what it was that made her so hated.

She turned her head to the side. Her profile wasn't horrible. Her nose stuck out, of course, but she had long ago accepted it as part of what made her unique. If Barbra could keep her nose through all of her fame and stardom, Rachel Berry would keep hers.

She turned back to face the mirror. She wasn't hideous, she knew, not really. Sure, she wasn't gorgeous like Quinn Fabray and she didn't ooze sex like Santana Lopez but she had never actually thought that was a bad thing.

She turned her body sideways, examining her figure. Not bad. She had lost her baby fat late, of course, but she was health conscious and always made time every morning for a workout.

She turned back to the mirror and stared deep into her own eyes. Was there something there, something that everyone else saw that she did not? If there was, she couldn't see it.

"It's not you."

She jumped at the quiet voice behind her and berated herself silently for not listening for the door. He came forward, holding her clothes out for her. She took them, staring at him silently.

She hated herself for needing to know, for needing him to tell her. She always prided herself on never showing weakness to them, never showing them how much they got to her. Every slushie she'd taken, she'd taken with her head held high. She'd never cried, never, until she got home. And she'd never asked why, even though she'd always wondered.

He seemed to sense she wasn't going to move until she got her answer and she hated him a little for that too. He got the satisfaction of humiliating her for her entire high school career, up until recently, and now he got the satisfaction of knowing that she needed to know why. Life wasn't fair.

"It's not you," he repeated. "Not really."

"It feels like it's me," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

He put his hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. "It's not," he said again. "You…you're going places. Someday. You're one of those people that just knows what to do and how to get there. Not everyone is like that. But for now…for now you're in high school and you're one of us and if people can make you feel like you're nothing…well, they feel better about themselves."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." But it wasn't. It was high school and juvenile and completely predictable. And she was ashamed that it worked.

They stood in silence and she thought he wasn't going to say anything else so she took her clothes into one of the stalls. She was halfway through changing when he spoke again.

"Jesse's a douche," he said. She said nothing, focusing on getting her clothes off without getting egg in her hair again.

She heard him pacing outside the door as she slid her skirt down her legs, letting it pool around her feet on the floor. She dressed slowly, feeling as though she were in some strange alternate universe.

A universe where Puck was actually nice.

_Noah_, a little voice in her head reminded her. _He's always been Noah to you._

She opened the stall door slowly and he turned to meet her eyes. She said nothing and she could tell it unnerved him.

"Looks better," he said, nodding once.

She said nothing, taking her clothes to the sink and rinsing them as best she could. She felt him come up behind her and his hands settled on her shoulders.

"He won't get away with this," he said lowly in her ear.

"I know," she said quietly.

They stayed like that for several minutes until the bell rang and noise filled the hallway. He stepped back and she knew without even looking that he was running his hand over his head, where that strip of hair used to be.

"Come on, Berry," he said finally. "I'll take you home."


	2. Chapter 2

He had been minding his own business, heading out to his truck for his dip when he saw her.

He knew instantly it was her, no one in the school was as short as she was. And the knee socks were a dead giveaway, even covered in a sticky looking substance.

Her back was to him and she was standing completely still. She had yellow goo running down her hair, her clothes, everywhere. And she never moved.

He glanced around, hoping maybe Finn was somewhere nearby and he could pawn this off on him. No such luck. He was alone in the parking lot. Alone except for the pathetic image of an egg-covered Rachel Berry.

He sighed as he realized he couldn't leave her there. Not now. His mom would have his head. She was already pissed about the fact that he had dated a nice Jewish girl and let her get away. And she was pissed about Quinn. And the baby. He knew it was in his best interest not to give her another thing to be pissed about, not right now.

"Berry?" he called out. Nothing. She never even moved.

He rolled his eyes. Of course she would make this difficult.

He moved closer, coming around to stand in front of her. Her eyes were tightly closed and if it wasn't for the fact that he could see her breathing, he would think she was dead. She had egg all over her face.

"Berry?" He was almost concerned now. She didn't look hurt, but maybe she'd hit her head or something.

He watched as her eyes pressed more tightly closed. "What the hell happened to you?" She didn't answer and he stepped closer, partly annoyed, partly concerned. "Rachel? Are you ok?"

"Do I look ok?" He took a step back. He'd never heard her that angry before, had never heard her use that tone before.

"You look like hell."

"I'm covered in baby chickens." He could hear the tears in her voice and silently pleaded with her not to cry. Crying chicks freaked him out and there was no one around to deal with this besides him.

He put a hand on her elbow, hoping that maybe it was comforting. "They're just eggs," he told her. She probably thought it was something disgusting or gross and he figured she'd be glad to know it was just eggs.

Wrong.

"I'm a vegan." She was using that angry tone again. "I don't eat eggs because they turn into baby chickens! And now I'm covered in them!" Her voice broke on the last word and he swore under his breath. He _really_ didn't do crying chicks. Hell, he was usually the one who made them cry, not the one that made things better.

"Who did this?"

"Jesse." And he could tell now that she was definitely crying, definitely about to lose it.

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "Why would he do that?"

He knew what the rest of the glee club thought, knew everyone thought Jesse was just using her. He didn't have an opinion one way or the other. He just knew the kid would get his ass kicked if he tried to screw them over like they'd been screwed over at sectionals. He hadn't paid much attention to Jesse and Rachel, aside from the fact that Rachel seemed devoted enough to the douche not to make out with him while they were working on _Run Joey Run._

He had kinda thought the floppy haired douche cared about her. He'd be dumb not to, transferring schools like that and all.

"Because everyone was right? He never wanted me, he was just using me. He went back to Vocal Adrenaline and now they're intent on making my life miserable. As if the students of my own high school harassing me isn't enough."

She was pissed now, he could hear it in her voice, and he hoped it was enough to keep her from bursting into tears. Because he honestly wasn't sure he wouldn't take off running if she started crying her big crocodile tears.

And then the weight of her words hit him and he realized that if she did cry, it would be because of him, at least partly. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. He was horrible to her most of the time and he knew it. He hadn't been sorry for it, not really, not until he'd felt the cold slushie dripping down his back that day.

He'd realized then that no one deserved that, not really. It was cold and uncomfortable and had stained one of his favorite shirts. And fuck, clothes weren't cheap. He'd had to hide that from his mom, not wanting to add it to the list of things he was heaping on her.

He remembered Rachel that day, the day he'd been slushied in the hallway. She had been horrified for him, more horrified than she had ever been for herself. She had led him into the bathroom and helped him wash the sticky syrup from his hair, all the while telling him how lucky he was that his hair wasn't long like hers and Quinn's.

He was pretty sure he was going to regret it but he knew what he had to do.

He grabbed her elbow and gently tugged her in the direction of the school. "Come on."

"Where are we going? Do you have feathers stashed somewhere? Because, I must tell you, that would just cap off my whole look." She tried to sound defiant but he heard the underlying fear in her voice and he'd be lying if he said it didn't sting a little.

Rachel Berry hadn't been slushied since the week after they'd broken up. He'd stopped buying the fruity drinks immediately and it had only taken him a week to beat the message into the rest of the school: no more slushies for Berry.

But she didn't know that. He'd never told her and she'd never asked. She probably thought Finn had something to do with it.

"Just come on." He walked her toward the school, keeping a steadying hand on her elbow, guiding her. She seemed determined to keep her eyes closed and he didn't know if it was because she didn't want egg running into her eyes or if it was something else.

Didn't really matter either way.

They reached the curb by the sidewalk and he told her to step up. He tightened his hold in case she stumbled, but she did as he said and she was fine.

He was surprised she was letting him do this. With her eyes closed like that, he could be taking her anywhere and she wouldn't even know. He had thought she was going to make a big production out of this.

But then he looked at her, with egg goo still dripping off of her entire tiny little body and he thought maybe she didn't care. Even slushies weren't as bad as cold, sticky egg. What could he do to her at this point that would be worse?

He heard her breathing change and when he glanced back at her he saw the tears slipping down her cheeks. He cringed, watching her as she struggled to keep it together.

"Shit, Berry, don't cry," he told her. "We're almost there."

He led her into the hallway, knowing they wouldn't run into anyone. "We're missing sixth period," he told her when she stiffened beside him. He didn't give a damn. He knew she probably did.

He led her down the empty hallway, into the girl's bathroom she'd brought him to months ago. He pulled out the metal folding chair she'd stashed in the corner and set it up in front of the sink. She flinched when she heard the metal and she backed up a step, eyes still closed.

He grabbed her elbow again. "Relax, Berry," he told her, pulling her toward the chair. "Sit."

He turned on the water, warm at first, then hotter, testing it with his hand. Seemed ok. He pulled her gently backwards so she was leaning over the sink. "Tell me if it's too hot," he said.

He cupped the water in his hands, letting it wet her scalp and run down her hair. He started at her crown, working his hands gently through her hair, trying to untangle the strands and rinse the egg out. She was crying again, he saw, tears running down her face. He didn't say anything.

He figured he at least owed her that much.

He wet a paper towel and dabbed at her face, trying to remove all traces of the sticky substance. He dried her face carefully, mindful of the rough texture of the paper towel.

He was cursing Jesse St. Douche as his hands wound through her hair again. He couldn't believe the fucker had done this. Finn was going to be pissed when she went running to him about it.

But he knew she wouldn't do that. Not really. She wasn't the type to run to a guy to make things better for her. She never had been. Even when she and Finn had been friends, she had never asked Finn to stand up for her, had never asked him to make Puck stop with the slushies or make Quinn stop the pornographic drawings in the bathroom. That wasn't her style.

Which is how he knew that Jesse St. Douche was going to get his, even if it got him fucking suspended. It was why he'd beaten up half the football team and most of the hockey team to stop the slushies. She'd never stand up for herself, not the way she needed to, and fuck, he owed her that much.

After everything, he owed her _at least_ that much.

Turning off the water he watched her again. The tears had stopped, thank God, and she looked a little better. Not like she was going to have a major meltdown any time now, which was a definite improvement.

"You still keep a change of clothes in your locker?"

She tensed again and said yes.

"I'm going to get them," he told her. "I'll be right back." He didn't bother asking for her locker combination, just like he hadn't bothered asking her for her address the first time he'd gone over to her house. He had been responsible for defacing both on multiple occasions.

He checked the clock as he stepped to her locker. They still had a few minutes before the classes changed again, she still had a little time to get cleaned up. He didn't know why he cared that much that no one saw her like that, but he did.

_Because you hated people seeing you such a mess,_ a voice in his head told him.

The voice sounded like his mother.

He pulled her clothes out, careful not to make a mess of her locker. Opening the bathroom door, he saw her standing in front of the mirror. She was turning side to side, scrutinizing herself: her face, her body, everything. She looked miserable.

He knew what she was doing. He'd done the same thing when he was eight and his father had disappeared.

He'd never gotten it to make sense and he knew she wouldn't either.

"It's not you," he told her and he could tell by the way she whirled around that he'd startled her.

She didn't say anything and he was struck by how odd a silent Rachel Berry was. He couldn't even say how many times he'd wished she'd just shut her trap but now that she had, it was kind of freaking him out.

She stared at him and he knew then that she wasn't quite the unaffected, well-adjusted girl she tried to show people. He knew she'd always wondered why her, what she had done.

The same way his eight year old self asked his reflection what he had done to make his father leave.

"It's not you," he said again. "Not really."

She averted her eyes and he swore he felt a little pang for her then. She just looked so sad, standing there, trying to figure out what she'd done so wrong.

"It feels like it's me," she said quietly.

He took a step forward. "It's not." He was getting uncomfortable again. He rubbed the back of his neck. "You…you're going places. Someday. You're one of those people that just knows what to do and how to get there. Not everyone is like that." And it was true. She may be hated, but no one could deny that she was going to be fucking huge someday and they'd all be falling all over themselves to say they knew her way back when. "But for now…for now you're in high school and you're one of us and if people can make you feel like you're nothing…well, they feel better about themselves."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she said, but he could tell she understood. He watched the emotions flash across her face: the anger, the sadness, the humiliation.

He was surprised she didn't realize it sooner. She probably had.

She was Rachel Berry, after all.

She didn't say anything else as she went into a stall and started changing and neither did he. He paced back and forth across the bathroom, thinking of all the ways Jesse St. Douche was going to get his ass handed to him. It would be some of his best work, he knew, and that was saying something.

Her feet under the stall door caught his eye as he turned to pace back across the room. Dainty, like her, with bright purple toenails. How could someone do that to a tiny girl with bright purple toenails?

"Jesse's a douche," he said suddenly. She didn't say anything and he watched as her skirt slid down her bare legs, settling around her feet, blocking those toenails from his view. He didn't care; his mind was elsewhere.

How the fuck could someone be so cruel? He knew he probably wasn't one to talk, but he'd only ever doused her with a cold drink. She'd dated the douche for weeks, he had to know she ate like a bird. What he did was so much worse than slushies.

He turned to her when the stall door opened. She was dressed but still barefoot, her hair hanging in wet strands around her face.

He thought she looked fucking gorgeous.

She still hadn't said a word. It was beyond odd and throwing him completely off. Hell, this whole fucking day was throwing him off.

"Looks better," he told her.

She still said nothing, walking to the sink and rinsing out her egg-covered clothes.

He was overcome with the urge to touch her all of a sudden and he figured, fuck, after what he'd just done for her, he might as well. He stood close behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He could feel the heat radiating from her body.

He leaned close to her ear. "He won't get away with this."

"I know," she said quietly, and it was just _so strange_ to hear Rachel freaking Berry so quiet. He didn't know she had it in her.

He wished he still didn't know.

He stood there for several minutes, hands firm on her shoulders, hoping to give her whatever comfort he could from it, even if just briefly. Then the bell rang and he stepped back. The spell was broken.

He ran his hand over his head, still startled not to feel that strip of hair in the center.

Her shoulders were hunched, she still looked miserable.

"Come on, Berry," he told her. "I'll take you home."


End file.
